


Under the Mask (REBOOTED)

by susies_fandom_wonders



Series: Under the Mask [1]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Blood and Gore, F/M, Gen, HUGE Canon Divergence, LOTS of violence, M/M, More Relationships to be added, More characters to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-04-18 17:32:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14218164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susies_fandom_wonders/pseuds/susies_fandom_wonders
Summary: What if Descole gets caught by Targent at the end of Miracle Mask?





	1. Captured

Descole gritted his teeth as he glared at the army that stood before him, clenching his hands into fists. Raymond stood in front of him, tense.

“Do we go quietly?” Raymond glanced back at him. Descole shook his head.

“These cowards are not in charge here.” Descole trembled in anger, vision going red when he addressed the group that had ruined his life. “You are not recognized as any type of authority!” He clenched his fists tighter, nails digging into his palms and sending small shockwaves of pain up his arms. “And you disgust me with your demented worldview. I will not let you steal that which I have earned!” He let out a snarl, vision going red when he finally moved forward. He barely registered Raymond reaching out to him out of the corner of his vision when he leaped from the top of the chamber. A shockwave of pain moved up his legs when he landed hard on his feet, rolling to keep his momentum going when he started in a sprint towards the army before him.

The men stepped forward, aiming machine guns and firing at him without any prompting from their leader. They must have expected this, to a degree. That fleeting thought flashed through Descole’s mind as he wove through the bullets, ripping his cape and grazing him slightly before he leapt at the closest man to him. The agent gasped and cried out when Descole landed a kick on his face, then lunged off of him to go to their leader. Bronev. His father. Was his father.

His anger was getting the best of him; he didn’t notice Bronev’s grin, or the way he tensed up. He only focused on bringing him down, making sure Bronev knew that this discovery, the Azran ruins, was his, and his alone.

He threw a punch at Bronev’s face; the older man dodged easily, then a hard knee to the stomach sucked the air out of him. Descole gasped, struggling to catch his breath, as Bronev held him up by the feather boa around his neck. His own eyes glared back at him from under the sunglasses. Descole raised his hands to Bronev’s, clawing slightly at the pale, wrinkled hand before he was thrown to the side, where he tumbled and rolled before stopping on the sandy ground. He grunted and struggled when multiple Targent men surrounded him, pinning him to the ground. He bucked and jerked his body, struggling to get free, when Bronev approached him.

“Descole, oh, Descole.” Bronev was grinning, voice condescending. Descole froze when Bronev kneeled down, hands reaching for his mask. He jerked his head away.

“You cannot do this! You have no right!” He shrunk away, gritting his teeth out of fear this time as Bronev hooked his fingers under the mask.

“Au contraire, my boy. Actually, I have every right. Now let’s just have a look.”

White smoke covered them, then. Descole kicked off the startled men, feeling the mask slip the rest of the way off. He shot up to his feet, feeling somebody grab his hand. He jerked his arm away.

“Master, are you alright?” Descole relaxed, then. That was just Raymond.

“Yes.” Raymond pushed him along. Bronev’s voice carried over the confused shouts of the other agents.

“Fire! Don’t let them get away!” They both started sprinting as the smoke began to clear. Descole felt a couple of bullets hit him, but his adrenaline was keeping him from feeling much pain. He finally gave a sharp cry when one bullet in particular struck his leg, making him collapse to the ground. Raymond turned back to him, kneeling down and pulling Descole back to his feet. He managed to take another step before his leg buckled, and he fell to the ground again. He hissed, the pain finally starting to catch up to him. Raymond kneeled next to him, hands ghosting bullet wounds before he tried, again, to pull Descole along.

“Come on, Master!” Raymond’s voice was frantic. “We need to go, now --” Raymond’s eyes shot open wide. Descole struggled to get to his feet again when Raymond slumped forward, falling against Des’s shoulder. He hissed again, a hand reaching to push Raymond off of his shoulder, where he was sure another bullet wound was.

“Raymond?” He asked. The butler didn’t respond, breathing rattling, shallow, and pained. “Raymond --?” He was pulled away, bullet wounds stretching and wounded leg dragged against the ground. “Let me go, you cowards --!” He shouted again when an agent kicked him. He struggled, breaking free for a moment and starting to crawl back to Raymond, where a small pool of red was beginning to form. A foot pressed against his wounded shoulder. His breath hitched before he let out a pained scream, the foot pressing in harder. His stomach rolled with the pain. Unwanted tears streamed down his face and into the sand.

“Please --” He said in a shaky voice. “Please, get off of me. I --” He bit his tongue when he was nudged onto his back, the foot pressing into his chest and making it hard to breathe. Bronev glared down at him, a wide grin stretching over his face once he recognized who exactly he had underneath him.

“Hello, Professor Sycamore.” Descole opened his mouth to retaliate, and Bronev dug his foot even deeper into his chest. Descole gasped, feeling the bones beginning to bend. “So much destruction from you. You’ve been the cause of so much trouble for me and my agents. I suppose you get that from me, don’t you?” Des grit his teeth before spitting at his father.

“You… can go to hell,” Descole wheezed. “You were the one who argued the most with them, Bronev. What happened to that?” Bronev frowned.

“You, of all people, should know why I’m doing this.” The leader of Targent leaned closer. “Her death will not be in vain. Your brother seems to be happy.”

“He doesn’t remember, asshole.” Descole’s voice was a hiss, and he wheezed when Bronev gave a heavy stomp on his chest, finally feeling a rib break. Bronev lifted his foot before kicking Descole in the head. He screamed, his vision exploded in stars, he couldn’t pass out -- his vision darkened, faded, and he faintly felt himself being dragged away. The last thing he heard was the muffled voice of the leader of Targent.

“You’re going to regret remembering when I’m done with you.”


	2. Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond wakes, and tries to escape.

“....Pick him up. That’s it….” God, Des’s head hurt. His ears still rang, his body sore, aching in multiple places. Where….?

Where was he?

“Set him down here. We need to get those bullet wounds treated, as well as that head injury.” Des was jostled slightly as he was placed on a hard, cool surface. What… was going on? It hurt to think, it hurt to move… it hurt to breathe. Everything hurt. He just wanted to go back to sleep.

“Do you think he’ll wake up?”

“It’s a possibility. If he does, I have some sedatives that should knock him out again. There’s no reason to keep him awake if he’s in pain.” Des thought, briefly, that he should let them know he was awake. Getting put on those sedatives sounded so good right now.

“Agent Owl.” Des froze. He recognized that voice. Bronev.

“Yeah, Boss?”

“If he wakes up, keep him awake for questioning.”

“Boss, he’s hurt --”

“I’m aware. I personally made sure of it.” Silence. Des kept his eyes closed, tried to keep his breathing calm and steady.

Oh, God, he knew where he was now. Targent had captured him. He had been shot multiple times, he had broken bones and he had suffered a kick to the head. The nurse finally spoke up again.

“Boss, don’t you think we should let him start the healing process before putting him through the interrogations?”

“Agent, are you refusing to do as I said?”

“No, Boss. Not at all. I would just like to say that people are more prone to focus on their pain than the questions being asked, which ends up being more time-consuming in the end. If they aren’t in pain, they can think clearly enough to answer.”

“Not this one.” Bronev’s voice was a low growl. “He tends to answer more to the pain. If he wakes up, let me know immediately.”

“Yes, Boss.” Footsteps, then the click of a door. There was a sigh, then the agent’s voice was close to him, soft. “I’m sorry this is how it has to be. Just stay asleep, alright? I’ll check your wounds.” His shirt was removed, and hands ghosted over his wounds. Another sigh, a few quiet tuts. “The boss doesn’t like to bring people in unscathed. I just wish he wouldn’t bring them in in critical health.” Des didn’t know why she was talking to him like she knew he was awake. For all he knew, she thought he was asleep. “Did you know a little girl was placed in my care quite a few years ago, along with her mother? I didn’t think the Boss’d go so far as to almost kill a child, then bring her here. Targent is no place for a little girl. Fortunately, I was able to bring her back from the brink.” A hand prodded at a bullet wound, his body twitched unwillingly. A pause, then the agent -- Owl -- continued. “I just finished hooking your friend up in the intensive care unit. He is lucky to be alive.”

As the bullet wound was pulled open and a pair of tweezers inserted, Des processed what she had said. A friend… in the ICU? Nate? No… he didn’t know where they had gone when Des said they were going to find the next of the Great Legacies. He didn’t have many other friends except….

Des’s blood turned cold. Raymond. Raymond was here. He remembered now. His eyes shot open, jerking and surprising the agent working on his shoulder. She pulled away, then placed a hand on Des’s chest, pushing him back down.

“Raymond’s here?” He gasped. The agent was wearing scrubs -- a nurse? “He can’t --”

“Hey,” Agent Owl said, brushing a strand of her graying hair behind an ear. Her caramel eyes stared at him. “Sh. We can’t have the Boss knowing you’re awake.”

“But Raymond --”

“He’s going to be fine. The reason why he is in intensive care is because he suffered a bullet wound dangerously close to his heart. It had to be removed immediately after you two arrived.” The nurse stared at him for a moment before she focused, again, on the bullet wound on his shoulder. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Why?” Des hissed when she stretched open the wound again, tweezers being reinserted.

“It seems rude of me to call you a prisoner. You have done nothing to deserve this.” The red-eyed man sighed. Might as well.

“I… Professor Sycamore.” The nurse’s eyes widened, and she tensed slightly, pinching a bit of muscle with her tweezers. Des bit his tongue to prevent himself from shouting. Her head shot up, and she stared at him.

“You’re Mr. Sycamore?” Her voice was quiet. Desmond grit his teeth, then nodded. The nurse stared at him even more, eyes wide and incredulous. She shook her head, grip slackening on the tweezers before she continued once more. “I’m sorry about what happened to your family.” Des felt his anger bubbling up.

“Like you even give a shit.”

“I don’t believe in violence for answers, like the Boss does.” Owl slowly pulled the bullet out, contemplative. “You may have permanent nerve damage there,” she muttered. She cleaned the area, then stitched up the wound. “Are there any other bullet wounds?” Desmond stared at her, not sure how to answer, especially when she was staring at him like she’d seen a ghost. Finally, he said:

“My leg. That’s why I got captured.”

“I see. Would you be alright if I were to remove it? Do you know where it is?” Des grit his teeth as he lifted his leg, gesturing with a hand to his thigh. Owl’s eyes widened as she reached for a pair of scissors to snip away the fabric keeping her from seeing the wound. “My word, Professor. I’m surprised you haven’t bled out yet.”

“How lucky of me.” He gave a soft shout when she began checking the wound.

“If you would have bled out, your friend would have been questioned instead, possibly killed because he was close to you.” Owl’s voice was soft. “Raymond was his name?” Her eyes widened slightly again, as if she remembered something. “Yes, yes, his name was Raymond.” A moment of silence stretched between them. “Did you know Violet missed you?”

Des jerked. “What?” He breathed out.

“When she woke up, she wanted you.” Owl’s voice was sad, wistful. “She wanted her grandfather as well.”

“No, she wasn’t brought here, was she?” Des couldn’t find it in him to believe it. They were dead. They had been burned along with that house, they were dead. To his horror, Owl nodded.

“She was on death’s door when she was brought in. A scrawny little thing. She wanted her family like nothing else.”

“She couldn’t have --” She was lying. There was no other explanation. “Did Bronev set you up for this.” His voice was dead. “I know he was cruel, but --”

“I’m not making this up,” Owl insisted. “Not at all. She’s --”

“This is just to break me.” Desmond nodded to himself. “That’s all this is. They died.”

Owl finished stitching up the wound on his thigh before straightening to stare at him. He was in denial. He couldn’t accept it. “Mr. Sycamore, when you get better, I can see if I can get Violet down here to visit you.” Des sat up, ignoring the small explosion of stars in his vision, head swimming. “Lay back down. You aren’t well.”

“No.” Des was already swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m fine.” He stood, wobbling a bit on his feet before his vision cleared. “I’m getting out of here with Raymond. Don’t try to stop me.”

 

“I told you before, Mr. Sycamore, I don’t do violence.” Owl shook her head. “I’m too old for it -- too soft-hearted.” Desmond scoffed, buttoning up his shirt and starting towards the door. “But I will warn you. Once you leave this room, you’re putting both Raymond and yourself in terrible danger, if not your entire family here.”

Desmond knew. He also knew he’d be in more danger if he just stayed there like a sitting duck. Raymond would want him to escape. He gave one more glance to the nurse before he opened the door.

“I’m aware.”

 

\-----

 

Raymond woke to the beeps and constant whirs of machinery. His head pounded, his chest hurt far too much; it felt tight, constricted. There were so many wires, so many needles, in his body. His breathing came in short puffs.

Surprisingly enough, nothing hurt. He knew he had been shot -- he knew he was at Targent. Was he in a medical wing? He laid there, turning his head slightly -- an IV was in his neck, preventing him from looking around too much.

A man walked into his room. “Ah. You’re awake.” Raymond didn’t answer; he just stared at him. Messy black hair tumbled down to his shoulders, eyes small and beady. He approached the bed. “You know, it was a mistake working for that fool Sycamore. Look at how much trouble it’s gotten you into.”

Raymond shook his head slightly. “He needed me.” His voice came out slurred, faint.

“I see. Let me tell you this.” The man leaned down; Raymond could smell the cigarette smoke and alcohol on his breath. “Boss told me to shoot you if he tried to escape.”

Raymond just nodded. He should have seen this coming. He should have been more careful -- Des was hurt, he was in trouble. If he had just kept him from jumping off that chamber -- he had wanted to bring Nate with him, to make sure everything would go smoothly; Des had refused. For what reason, Raymond would never know. The man smiled, mocking.

A long moment passed. The man had stepped to take a seat next to Raymond’s bed, foot tapping the floor incessantly.

The man finally stood. “Do you hear those unsteady footsteps? Those must be his, no?”

Raymond blinked slowly, struggling to stay awake. He did hear those footsteps, barely audible over the whirring and beeping of everything hooked up to him.

The door burst open, Desmond stumbled through. The man immediately pulled the gun out, placed it against Raymond’s head. “Come any closer, I shoot.”

Desmond froze, eyes flitting from Raymond to the gun to the man holding it. Raymond gave Des a quick incline of his head.

“Leave me. Go.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper. Des shook his head.

“I can’t leave you.” Des took another hesitant step forward, hands held up. The man pressed the gun harder against Raymond’s temple. Des exhaled shakily, then took another limping stride towards Raymond, eyes wild and desperate.

“If you try anything, I’ll shoot!” Des coiled, as if ready to pounce. Raymond heard the familiar click of a gun getting ready to fire.

“Run,” Was all Raymond managed out before the loud bang of a gunshot went off.

Desmond’s frantic eyes were the last thing he saw.


	3. Standoff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Owl isn't having any of it.

Owl really didn’t know what she had expected when Professor Sycamore had left her care. She certainly wasn’t expecting the gunshot that echoed through the hallways. In the middle of cleaning up her medical tools from removing those bullets from his body, she dropped the jar full of sterilizer, the liquid spreading across the floor as the jar shattered. She stood, and ran through the hallway. She knew that the Professor was going for Raymond. She knew exactly where he was.

What she wasn’t expecting, however, was Desmond staring, wide eyed and pale, at Raymond’s body. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, giving a slight squeeze before taking in the situation fully.

A few things stood out immediately to her. The agent, standing alert and stiff, next to Raymond’s body. A pistol was clutched in a steady hand, the gun still smoking. The heart monitor had flatlined, giving a constant, drawling beep. Then there was the new viscera on the wall and on the bed. And Raymond’s head --

Desmond lurched forward, and fell to his knees, vomiting. Owl dropped to her knees, as well, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and rubbing his arm gently. She glanced up at the agent fully.

“Sparrow, what on Earth were you thinking?!” The agent sat on the chair, cleaning the viscera from his gun.

“The boss ordered it, Owl.” The older woman bit her lip, then tightened her grip on Des when he lurched again, gagging and coughing. Sparrow didn’t even blink. “‘Shoot the old fool if Sycamore tries anything’. And he tried something.”

“What, exactly, did he try?” Owl could feel Des begin to shudder. She needed to get him away from here. It was then that Sparrow bit his lip. Owl’s blood began to boil. “Or were you too trigger happy, Sparrow?”

“No, Owl. He was trying to get them out, I know it.”

“So what if he was?” Sparrow flinched at the bite in the woman’s voice. “What was he going to do? Raymond was in critical condition, and he couldn’t even walk properly himself when I removed a bullet from his leg.” Owl rose to her feet, helping Des up and allowing him to lean on her heavily. Her eyes had hardened. “You should know my rules in here by now, Sparrow.”

“But the boss --”

“I don’t care, Sparrow. I set the rule that no one is to be harmed in this wing. They are recovering.” Footsteps rang down the hall. Owl’s glare made Sparrow shrink a bit. She huffed. “Were you aware, then, who exactly you just killed?”

Sparrow blinked, as if he didn’t understand the question. Owl’s eyes narrowed. “That doesn’t surprise me at all. You just blindly follow his orders without a second thought!” She turned to Des, whose eyes were wide and glassy. Some of Raymond’s blood had gotten on his face, soaked into his already bloodstained clothing. “Let’s get you back to your room, okay?”

“Agent Owl, I’ll take it from here.” Sparrow had straightened. Owl looked behind her. Bronev grinned. “Nice work, Agent Sparrow.” The agent nodded. “If you’ll give Sycamore to me….”

“And where exactly are you taking him?” Owl asked when Des began to whimper. “He still needs to recover, and --”

“If he’s walking around, he’s well enough to be moved to a proper… area for questioning. I’m sure you’ll understand, Owl.” Bronev reached for Desmond.

“Boss. I cannot allow myself to let this man go to the cages until he has recovered more. You only just brought him in today, and --”

“Owl,” Bronev growled. “He will be difficult to get answers from as it is.”

“No.” Desmond suddenly slumped, almost pulling Owl down with him as he fell to the ground. She grabbed him before he fell fully, gently easing him to the ground. “I’m sorry. I can’t allow it.”

“Owl --” Sparrow started. Bronev raised a hand.

“Fine, Owl. I’ll allow this.” Owl let out a sigh of relief. Bronev continued. “However. If I let Sycamore remain here, and recover, then you must allow his questioning to take place here, as well.” Owl opened her mouth to protest. “I’m positive he has the answers we’ve been looking for.”

“You say that with everyone. Just let him recover.” Owl thought for a moment. “Why aren’t you treating him like you do Violet and Olivia?”

Bronev folded his arms. “Not now, Owl. I’m just trying to solve the Azran civilization. He has answers.”

“He’s also hurt and catatonic. He can’t give you answers that way.” Bronev and Owl stared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Bronev sighed after a long moment.

“Fine. He can’t do much while he’s here, anyway.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

“However.” Bronev uncrossed one of his arms to point at the unconscious man. “Once he gets better, you will give him to me, do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Bronev nodded, then turned his attention to Sparrow, who was staring down at Owl as if she’d grown an extra head.

“Agent Sparrow.” The man jolted.

“Yes, sir?”

“Help Owl take the Professor back to his room.”

“Course, sir.” Sparrow moved immediately to Des.

“Be careful with him,” Owl warned. “He has a broken rib.”

Sparrow didn’t give her a second thought as he scooped up Des and threw him over his shoulder.

 

\-----

 

“Mum!”

“What is it, Violet?” The girl entered their quarters from the balcony. Her normally cheery face was solemn. Olivia stood, placing most of her weight on her good leg. “What happened?”

Violet bit her lip. “Papa’s here.”

Olivia started moving towards Violet quickly as soon as the word ‘Papa’ left the girl’s lips, her limp obvious as she walked. That leg never healed properly after Targent had come and taken them. She placed her hands on Violet’s shoulders.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I saw him being taken from the hanger, with… with Grandpapa.”

“Raymond?” Olivia’s eyes widened. “Were they hurt?”

“They… Papa looked worse off, but they seemed more concerned with Grandpapa.”

“Vi… did you see any bullet wounds?”

“I’m… not sure? There was this dark patch on Grandpapa’s chest, and Papa was covered in blood and bruises.”

“My God….,” Olivia whispered, looking away after a moment. “They must be with Owl by now.”

“Mhm! She was there right away to help.” Olivia sighed, then ruffled her daughter’s hair.

“Vi. Can you keep an eye on them, if possible?” Violet paused for a moment, then shook her head.

“I might run into an agent while sneaking around. It’s risky enough as it is, mum.” Violet smiled, however, showing the gap between her front teeth. “I’m sure we’ll hear from agents about them, though.”

A faint gunshot reached their ears. Olivia bit her lip. Gunshots weren’t unusual, but knowing that Raymond and Des were here… it sent a wave a fear through her.

She could only pray nothing had happened.

“Why… why don’t we play a game, Mum?” Violet’s voice had gone quiet, as well, her lips turned into a frown. “When Bronev comes, I’m… sure we’ll hear about them.”

Bronev was the last person Olivia wanted to hear news about her family from. However, he was all she had right now. Owl was the only one she really trusted other than Emmy, and Owl couldn’t come up unless given explicit permission; Emmy was on a mission watching Des’s brother, so she couldn’t give any info. She nodded.

“Does Candyland sound good, Vi?” Her daughter’s eyes sparkled, and she nodded, a smile stretching across her face once again.

“Yeah!”

However, as they sat down to play, Olivia couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible had happened to Des and Raymond.

 

\-----

 

“Swift.”

“Yeah, Boss?”

“I want you to keep an eye on Professor Sycamore. Make sure Owl is trying her best to make him recover as soon as possible.”

“Of course. I’ll get started right away.”


	4. Clean Starts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Desmond gets cleaned up, and Owl gets a few surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a while.....  
> I apologize in advance; this story has gone on the backburner. Please bear with me.

“Mr. Sycamore?” Desmond was silent, hugging his knees to his chest. His eyes were half-lidded, staring at nothing. Owl bit her lip. Her hand reached and landed gently on his shoulder, and Des’s body shuddered violently for a brief second, as if her touch was ice, sending a chill over his body. Raymond’s blood was still on him, beginning to dry and brown. Owl sat on the side of the bed, looking into his blank eyes. “Mr. Sycamore, I want to clean you up. Is that alright?”

Desmond had woken up not long after Sparrow had set him – it wasn’t a gentle movement, Sparrow almost dropping him – down, jolting and his hands flying to his side with a sharp, clipped cry. Owl glared at him, then walked him out of the hospital wing before returning to Des’s room. This was how she found him, curled up and shivering lightly.

Some of the sutures had come undone, and Owl needed to fix that. She brushed a lock of messy hair from Desmond’s face – such a soft, gentle movement – and went to work on trying to unlock his arms long enough to remove the now soiled shirt. Desmond refused to give, his grip iron. They locked eyes after a moment, and Des’s eyes flashed with a moment of brief clarity.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Des’s voice was hoarse. Owl didn’t answer, looking away and pursing her lips. “Tell me. Please.” The nurse was silent for a long moment.

“Mr. Sycamore, I would prefer it if I answered la –”

“I need to know.” Desmond’s voice turned desperate. “Please tell me Raymond is alive. Please tell me that I didn’t kill him because of a mistake I made… because I let my anger control my actions again.” Owl chewed on her lip again, drawing blood. She couldn’t lie to him. No matter what she did, she couldn’t. She looked back at him, into those eyes that conveyed so much emotion, so much raw emotion, so much fear. Owl took a deep breath before speaking.

“Mr. Sycamore… I’m sorry.” Owl watched with sad eyes when the man’s face crumbled. “He’s gone. I’m sorry.” Tears streamed down Des’s face – slowly at first, but they gradually gained speed. Owl placed a gentle hand on his cheek. “It wasn’t your fault. Whatever you think, it wasn’t your fault. I promise.” Desmond didn’t answer, wincing when he hiccuped, gritting his teeth together. Owl frowned slightly, lips thinning into a straight line. “Can I clean you up? I can see if I can get Violet or Olivia down here as well.” Desmond cringed at the names, his tears falling even faster.

“They – they’re dead. I told you they were.” Owl’s heart broke. She made a promise to herself then – she would get either Violet or Olivia (preferably Olivia) down to the infirmary to talk to Desmond.

“It’s alright. I’ll clean you up, and give you medication to help you sleep, okay?” Desmond didn’t respond. “...Okay. I’ll do that.”

She began by urging him into the bathroom. It took him a long moment before he finally stood and allowed himself to be guided to the bathroom. She slowly and carefully undressed him before placing him in the bathtub. She couldn’t get the wounds wet, as they were so new; a few, large pieces of plastic, gauze, and tape were used to seal the bullet holes (She made sure the seals were tight – she couldn’t allow those to get infected, despite the gnawing fact that he would be able to stay longer if she did that – she didn’t want to cause more pain for Desmond).

She turned on the shower head, taking it off the wall and running her hand over it. Desmond’s head lolled to the side, watching the streams of water with dull, blank eyes once more. Owl took one of his hands and brought it to the shower head.

“Temperature alright?” She asked gently. Desmond blinked slowly, then gave a soft shrug and a wry, mirthless smile.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m going to get questioned, aren’t I?” Desmond’s voice was quiet. “This isn’t my first time here, you know.”

Owl felt her heart sink. “It’s not?”

“No.” Desmond held himself close in that moment. “Never thought I was hurt enough to send me here, though. They kept me in that same cell, every day. They tortured me for information.”

“When did you come here?”

“When they had killed….” Des swallowed, then shivered slightly when Owl moved the water over his body. “It was the perfect opportunity. I was lucky enough that… he wasn’t there when they took me. They would have….”

“It’s okay. I understand.” Owl ran the shower head over Des’s head, shielding his eyes when she ran it over his hair. “Can you tell me what they do?” She had never heard much about what exactly went on in the ‘interrogation’ area – she only knew the consequences, the poor victims coming to her barely alive and afraid for their lives.

Desmond shuddered. “Everything under the sun. They had tried everything with me.” He looked at her. “They start with simple things. What they consider simple. When you don’t answer, they slap you, threaten you with knives and promises of… assault. When you still don’t answer, they act on their other methods. They….” Desmond bit the inside of his cheek. “Forgive me.”

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. I was just curious.” Owl watched as dried blood washed off of the man’s body and drifted in lazy red streaks and small clumps towards the drain. She ran a hand through his hair, untangling it while she turned off the water. “They never tell me what happens.”

“...Huh.” Desmond tensed at the hand carding through his long, dampened hair. “Thought you’d know. You do work here, don’t you?”

“Yes… however, I was placed in the medical wing when I refused to conform to their rules. I know too much, and I keep people alive.”

“Figures,” Desmond muttered, then was silent for a long time, contemplating. His red eyes threatened to dull, flashing with fear and desperate anger. Owl realized he was talking to her because he didn’t want to be lost in his thoughts. Desmond spoke again. “You don’t seem like the type that’d fall into their trap, their gilded smiles and promises. What… how did you join?”

Owl frowned. “I prefer not to say.”

“...I see.” Desmond looked at her, narrowing his eyes, studying her.

A long, uneasy silence stretched between the two. Desmond took in a few, uneven breaths, hands clenching into fists – one gripped at his other arm. Owl’s frown deepened. She needed to keep the conversation going. She reached over to the side, grabbing a small bottle of soap and pouring a good amount of the substance onto her hands. She worked it into a good lather before working the suds into Des’s hair and body.

“What kind of tea do you like?” She asked. Desmond blinked away the haze that was beginning to glaze his eyes over – it was a calmed glaze, compared to the dull, empty one that had threatened to take him before.

“A-Ah… I like oolong… or herbal.” Owl smiled.

“I like green and blends with more of a kick to it.” Owl turned on the water again, grabbing the shower head and rinsing off the suds. “I can make some oolong for you, if you want.”

Desmond furrowed his brows. “I didn’t think this place gave you such… _luxuries_.” He spat out the last word, eyes flashing. For a second, Owl thought she’d messed up; Des’s voice had deepened, eyes seeming to turn a sharper red.

“I’ve been able to stock on teas whenever people go out on missions.” Des exhaled after a moment, closing his eyes for a few long seconds. “Would you like some once we finish getting you cleaned up?”

Des opened his eyes after a deep breath. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Owl helped him out of the tub, wrapping a towel around him and drying him off carefully. “I’ll get you a change of dry clothes while I’m grabbing the tea, alright? Will you be okay?”

Desmond looked at her before looking at the ground, fingering the towel. He nodded after a moment. Owl gave him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can.” She left, closing the bathroom door behind her. She gave a long sigh, running a hand through her hair. She walked to the main door, opened it, then began to walk towards her room at a brisk pace.

“Oi, Miss Owl!” A voice called. She slowed her steps, turning and smiling gently.

“What is it, Raven?” He approached her at a slight jog. “Nobody been giving you any trouble, right?”

“Nah, no’ yet.” He gave a small smile. “The wing’s been busy – d’ya know what’s goin’ on?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t heard the word.” Owl motioned for Raven to follow. “We have a new….” She hesitated. She hated calling the people here ‘prisoners’. She tried again. “We have a new development.”

“Wha’ kind of development?”

“Have you ever heard of Desmond Sycamore?”

“Can’t say I have. Are they importan’?”

“He’s important to Targent’s goals, yes.” She opened the door to her room. “He’s an expert in the studies of the Azran; a very well-known archaeologist, as well.” She rummaged through the cupboards, looking through tins of tea leaves. Pulling out one, she held it out to Raven. “Can you hold this?”

“‘Course.” Raven took it, holding it carefully. “So we go’ ‘im here?”

“Yes. We have his wife and daughter under heavy guard upstairs. Had them here for around… ten years?”

“Really? Why?”

“Boss says it’s to keep an advantage over Sycamore. Nobody questions him.” Raven’s mouth pulled into a small scowl, but he nodded.

“I see.” Raven watched Owl take out a tea kettle before speaking again. “‘E hasn’t hurt anyone, ‘as ‘e? Tha Boss, I mean.”

Owl had almost forgotten Raven was new. He wasn’t exactly privvy to everything yet. “Hon, he’s hurt a lot of people to get what he wants. That’s why we have so many corrupt people here now.” _Like Sparrow_ , Owl thought to herself. He was one of the worst.

“Did ‘e hurt tha Sycamore fam’ly?”

“...Yes.” Owl passed the kettle to Raven after a moment. “Had to come to me first before they were locked up.”

“Tha’s… terrible.” Raven thought for a moment. “So now we have tha professor. Wha’re we gonna do with ‘im?”

“Currently? Try to keep him from falling into shock. Keep out Sparrow and Bronev if they try to take him.”

“Li’e we do with all the other….” Raven’s brows furrowed. “Wha’s tha word?”

Owl smiled gently as she began looking for clothing. “Patients?” Raven smiled back.

“Yeah, yeah. Patients.”

“Exactly.” Owl grabbed a change of clothing. “Let’s head back.”

“Alrigh’.” They smiled at each other, then began to walk back to Des’s room. Their footsteps echoed through the empty hallway, their combat boots clicking against the tiled floor. As they approached the door, a new pair of footsteps started to sound. Raven looked around, brows furrowing.

“Owl? Y’hear tha’?” Owl opened the door, then ushered Raven in. She looked back out into the hallway, spotting a figure approaching them. She squinted, looking them over quickly, then spotted the messy blond hair. She relaxed.

“Hi, Swift.” Swift waved, slowing as he got closer to Owl.

“Hi, Owl.”

“What’re you doing here?” Swift’s mouth pulled to the side slightly; his scar twitched.

“... Boss wants me to keep an eye on Sycamore.” Owl frowned. “I know how ya feel about people doin’ that. I’m sorry I have to do it.” Owl sighed, then let Swift inside the room.

“Better you than anyone else,” she muttered as she led him to the couch. “Stay here.”

Swift gave an uneasy smile, giving a small, soft laugh. “Alright.”


End file.
